In between his journey, he reflected philosophically that in life there are many separations, many deaths. What point was there in going back? Who belonged to whom in this world? But she had no such philosophy to console her. All she could do was wander near his place, weeping copiously. May be a faint hope lingered in her mind that he might return, and this was enough to tie her to the spot, prevent her from going far. Oh poor, unthinking human heart! Error will not go away, logic and reason are slow to penetrate. We cling with both arms to false hope, refusing to believe the weightiest proofs against it, embracing it with all our strength. In the end it escapes, ripping our veins and draining our heart's blood, until, regaining consciousness, we rush to fall into snares of delusion all over again.